Returning from a super long hiatus really makes you hype
Idk how long it will last but I am going to complete this story, 100%.
If anything.
Ever had a really good plot point screaming at you to include it in your chapter but you haven't addressed the one you left off in another chapter yet because of another plot point?
Me rn
And a little thing I DIDN'T QUIT THE SITE QUIT ON ME. THIS TERRIBLE FAN FICTION PLATFORM IS SO BUGGY THAT I COULDN'T UPDATE UNTIL I GOT A NEW WRITING LAPTOP LIKE JEEZ KEEP UP YOUR STANDARDS DYU KNOW HOW MANY USERS YOU HAVE!?
Figured I should go ahead and say NO MORE OC'S PLEASE. I really can't shoehorn anymore into the plot that I'm trying to shoehorn now, I'm shoehorning Ulfric, Wolvia & Serah, Dart, Serrgius, Sandrin, Azi, and Torriath. And like 12 others.
If you ever go the OC route writing it's a dangerous road, friend. My advice: make a list of your OC's so the PM doesn't go away and the comments don't get lost and they PM you saying "what happened to -" and I PM "who?"
"What took you so long?"
J'tar sat across from Do'bar in his booth, his clothes cold and wet by the rain outside. "Spending so much time in this tavern, I'm beginning to think that you're an alcoholic." Do'bar chuckled. "Hey, I'm not the one that got drunk to all Sovngarde the first time I"- "Divines, will you remind me of this every time?" "As much as I can. By the way, what were you doing earlier? I've been waiting forever."
J'tar paused, as if he was thinking about what he was saying and if he should say it. After all, S'rashi's troubles were his own.
"I was just picking up Rohan's sword from Ulfric. Feels empty with an empty sheath." "Aye, ever since I left Ganl…" Do'bar faded, and J'tar remembered his violent outburst when he had been compared to their former master. "Anyways, funny you found that hole there, there were about 12 others on the island. Very curious." J'tar's head perked back up. Twelve? Besides the one he'd fallen in? It was settled, this was no natural occurrence, someone had deliberately placed them there. Why, though? What purpose could one have for placing large pits in small, insignificant islands?
"A trap!"
"What?" "The pits, they're traps! For the indigenous people!" "Impossible, the indigenous people were wiped out by disease when the Stonedragons came, you weren't there when we saw the afflicted." J'tar pondered for a moment. "Someone put them there." "They are ancient." "Or maybe there is someone still there. Still out there, somewhere."
Do'bar's expression turned grim. "I hope to the divines there isn't. And if they are, I hope they are friendly."
The midnight-furred Khajiit sat in the slave room, awaiting whatever punishment Virk was going to put him through. Having not spoken to his master in several hours or been called upon either Virk was very busy with pressing matters, or he was looking for S'rashi. Generally if it was the latter it would not have a favorable outcome to S'rashi.
The door opened.
"S'rashi is sorry for his absence! Is there anything that he can do to"- Q'iam stared at him like he was someone not supposed to be there. "Don't apologize to me. After all, Q'iam is not alpha slave anymore. It is S'rashi." S'rashi looked away in embarrassment. "This one will be leaving." Before Q'iam could say anything else, he left. He had nothing to say to the gray-furred Khajiit, nothing that he could think of anyway. Especially now, remembering the carefree way that Q'iam himself was the one to start off the chain of false accusations leading to Maran-Dur's death.
It came to S'rashi that Maran-Dur would not have killed himself if he'd gotten S'rashi killed. Not at all. He would have kept going. These were thoughts less favorable and so S'rashi purged them from his mind. To waste one's life for another… What had come over him? Men died every day to other men but would they throw themselves to the sea? Before opening the door to go outside, he heard heavy footsteps and stepped away, knowing Virk was on the other side, the signature sound of metal armor echoing through the lower cabins already. But when the door opened, an Orc woman that he recognized as the captain stepped through. Yarg? Yurg? No, Yag. So many names, so many people to remember…
She stood awkwardly. "I assumed your master was down here. Where is he, I must speak to him." S'rashi did not know what to say, and luckily for him, Q'iam leaned out of the doorway, S'rashi noticing he still had a bandage on his head. "He is drunk in the tavern. Q'iam told him he must not drink anymore and received a black eye. This one deserves it." For a moment Yag was about to say something but Q'iam interrupted her. To Yag it may not have seemed so but S'rashi could clearly see that he'd waited for her to start so he could on purpose. "Q'iam's master is Virk Shatter-Shield. Cross him, and you will be crushed."
Yag's face was disgusted for a moment, but resumed. "Very well. You two will come with me. The two… cagefighters can make up for their master."
Q'iam's face twisted into a grin. It gave an odd appearance, a beaten up cat with a bandage and a black eye, already scarred before all of that. His smile had a curve on the edge on the right, turning downwards, so it looked funny, as if half of him was sad and the other half was happy.
Why Q'iam would be happy about being called a cagefighter S'rashi would never know.
Captain Yag turned back to S'rashi. "Go to the blacksmith, he's filled an order for you placed by Shatter-Shield." Curiously, S'rashi left. He remembered throwing his hatchet at something on Kezahkan's isle and not getting it back, but in light of all the recent… adventures he'd forgotten all about it.
…
Seeing it was a Nord from a short distance, S'rashi was a bit nervous. Nords and Khajiit were like water and oil. As were any other race they were not accustomed to. But as the ship's blacksmith saw him, he gave a warm smile that calmed S'rashi more than anything that day. It came to him that only hours earlier he was going to commit suicide.
"S'rashi, right?"
"It is i." He noticed a Khajiit girl around his age sitting on a crate and occasionally handing the blacksmith tools. Her fur was patched and she was thin, the light armor she wore looking heavy. She caught him staring and quickly looked away as well. "I don't believe we've met, S'rashi. My name is Ulfric."
The blacksmith towered over S'rashi, and the setting sun behind him gave him a long shadow that darkened the already midnight-furred Khajiit.
"This one has not seen you before."
Ulfric smiled, going over to a chest and rooting through it for something. "Azi, will you be leaving with the rest of them?"
The female Khajiit gave a low purr. "This one hates water. It will be good to touch warm sands…" At the mention of it both S'rashi and Azi looked off into the distance, imagining the deserts on their fur. S'rashi almost laughed out loud. He found it funny all Khajiit shared the effect. Many races shared things. Looking over at the hulking blacksmith, soot on his vest and a smile on his face.
Perhaps not all Nords…
The smile on Ulfric's face made him think of his parents. He suppressed the thought, then gradually let it seep in, and accepted a war axe wrapped in a bundle of cerulean cloth. "Try not to lose that one, I put a good effort making it look like something from Summerset." Maybe it was better than his old one. Pretty much a sharp rock tied to a stick-
From within the bundle gold and silver shined and reflected on his face in the sun, casting him a pale yellow tint. Before him, in the cloth, was an Elfin war axe, straight from the forge. S'rashi looked up at Ulfric, not knowing how to say 'thank you', or repay him, or what to do to show his gratitude.
No one had shown kindness in the form of a gift to the boy since he was ten, and still in Valenwood. "M-master ordered this? For S'rashi?" Ulfric's hearty smile increased seeing his axe in good hands, and S'rashi caught the slightest smirk from Azi.
"Well, he ordered you a steel one but everyone wants steel and the damn Empire sent me two crates of Elfin and one crate of what I actually need." He gave a chuckle. "It was less of a resource strain. And I know how it feels to lose a weapon you've fought with for quite a while."
S'rashi could already sense the presence of Virk from across the deck, and the mixed emotions coming from him.
Most of which was grim.
"You didn't tell me you made contact."
"We haven't made contact. Across the language barrier, at least."
Yag looked at the failing interpreter from a distance, J'tar studying the spectacle.
A native of the islands was excitedly trying to explain something, and the Imperial interpreter was excitedly telling the others the wrong thing. Yag marched forward, J'tar trailing behind. He wished he had a chance to think and reminisce on the day's events, but one thing led to the next and the next.
Pierric's appearance was a vision. He was convinced of this; out of common sense…. And out of fear. J'tar touched the brow over his eyepatch, his hand quivering. The battles came back to him, the fallen and falling comrades, men turned to corpses and fed to the sea which itself was crying to stop being forcefed the blood of sons and brothers…
J'tar growled like a feral animal and realized what he was doing but it was too late as his claws extended and raked across his brow, drawing warm blood.
Yag stared, reaching her hand and snatching it back as he twitched once. "Are you…?"
"I am not alright, no. There is something you and I must discuss"-
"By the nine, he wants you to follow him! He's pointing and jumping, idiot!" Sandrin gave a heavy sigh and jerked his head towards the native's direction, signaling the crew to follow, an exasperated glance passing between him and the interpreter. Seeming to understand the basic concept of what Sandrin was saying, the native grinned ear to ear and began walking ahead into the forest that made up the island.
It was an odd sort of geography, the island. Most of the time you would see tropical grasslands or forests, sometimes dying coniferous suggesting strong winters right on the beaches.
J'tar followed, deep in thought, dabbing at the deep scratch over his eye with a cloth Yag gave him.
Climbing down the ladder from the ship, S'rashi almost fell off as the rope moved about in the wind. After him, Ulfric was able to get down with ease, his weight keeping the ladder still. Azi too had difficulty but managed to make it down. S'rashi looked at the bright blue water under the ship; the bottom of the ocean- or rather the sandbank- was visible. He'd never seen such bright waters in his life, apart from on an island far from the coast of Valenwood where his parents had taken him once. Everything began to remind him of those memories now that he'd let them pass; the trees were tall like those in his homeland, the water full of life, the sands bleached pale white… S'rashi felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Ulfric.
"You coming?"
S'rashi turned and began walking. He realized he'd been staring into the water under the ship. "Of course. This one was… Deep in thought." "I was wondering too how they managed to get the ship right on shore with no problems; it's as if the natives dug out a large portion of the sand so ships as big as ours could…" Ulfric noticed someone and walked towards the main group ahead of them, a smile on his face, leaving S'rashi and Azi.
"So, what do you do on this ship?" Better to make conversation than make awkward silence, S'rashi reasoned. "Azi helps Ulfric as his assistant. Easy work, and otherwise I would have nothing to do. The Imperials did not want Azi here, this one is a stowaway again, but this time no one cared." Azi's face was hidden by a hood attached to her armor.
"S'rashi is the slave of Virk Shatter-Shield." The afterwards silence was awkward, and he had not foreseen making conversation leading to this.
One hand on the Elfin war axe, S'rashi was not sure if he wanted to use it or not, looking at the burly native.
When he got sight of it, J'tar stopped, and so did his heart for a moment.
A village sat in the middle of a small valley, filled to the brim with Natives. A Tamrielic village. He observed the Nords, Bretons, Orcs, Elves, and even some of his own milling about. There were walls constructed of mixed stones and sharpened logs, with few entryways besides the one that they'd came in. The group from the ship overlooked it all from a hill, a short trail leading into camp.
The native jogged into came, a grin from ear to ear, waving them on. "Yag?" "Yes, J'tar?" "What do we do now?" "… I'm not sure."
J'tar stared between his captain and the settlement. It had clearly been built by some form of Tamrielic and Akaviri people, and had been a long time in the making; while not being some huge city these people made up for the materials that the island did not possess with what they did have, and looking down there it seemed that in some cases they'd done it better.
People were gathering below at the main entrance, and he noticed from lip reading that when they made conversation it was in Tamrielic. "How…" While the others celebrated and cheered; their voyage's purpose was served in a mere month and some; Yag and her close subordinate knew that when questions were to be asked there was no celebration until they were answered.
His eyes following the black furred form of S'rashi, J'tar gave a long and heavy exasperated sigh, and followed Yag into the settlement, remembering to mark in his voyage journal that this was the most eventful day of his life.
When you have Ulfric running ahead to meet up with Yag and after the cut J'tar is with Yag and Ulfric isn't and you're too lazy to rewrite your mistakes
This is a mile-marker we've reached, the Exterior was 20 chapters long and I'm planning the same length for its predecessor.
Thus begins phase 2.
Sounds badass doesn't it